


It's gonna be a good, good, life; that's what my therapist say

by catarinabelarmino



Category: Lethal Weapon (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Mentioned Sonya Bailey, Poor Riggs, Riggs is bad at feelings, Roger does not see the hints, s02e14 Double Shot of Baileys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 05:50:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15357645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catarinabelarmino/pseuds/catarinabelarmino
Summary: When he sees the car explode, and with it his partner, Riggs almost has a breakdown. However, he cannot show his concern, maybe he never will.





	It's gonna be a good, good, life; that's what my therapist say

**Author's Note:**

> Not betaed. Title: I'm A Mess; by Bebe Rexha.
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](https://catarinabelarmino.tumblr.com)

"Rog! Rog!" He shouted with all the air in his lungs, taking off his sunglasses shortly thereafter.

Martin Riggs was not prepared to see the flames consuming the car. No, probably consuming Rog. The seconds passing in a dizzy rave that appeared to be hours and hours on a loop. So many problems in his head and yet life seemed to jock with him daily and with a nasty figurative grin. Well, that's what he thinks. Whatever superior being that existed looked out for Riggs the same way it looked out for a damn prawn. 

He should have seen this. Times of peace and calm that lasted far too much for his taste. _No_. Peace does not go well with Riggs in his life or in the same fucking sentence. Life likes to mess with whoever approaches him and it was just a question of time to that happens again. It happened. First Miranda and then Murtaugh.

 _He should have seen this._

Everything was wrong and not just the wretched breath that he lets out through his lips really, really slowly. He does not know if he would be able to hold the feel tearing his insides — a feeling wanting to come alive out of his body mercilessly.

Why was everything starting to go hazy? He does not go deep on the thought because the next thing that stabbed his gut trying to rip out his bowels and make a necklace for him was that he would be the one to tell this to Trish. That was his fault, entirely. _Again_. Shits happen and when shits happen Martin Riggs normally was involved. 

Surely he would need more than a lifetime of therapy to heal from it but therapy would not be sufficient. Booze would not be sufficient. Hangovers would not be sufficient. His job would not be sufficient. Maybe if he takes steps towards the flame, because God helps him, this was too much for his messy mental health. Cahill would say that yes, he could go on with his life even after that. _Shit_ , he couldn't.

"This is it?" And when a familiar voice — a _fucking_ good familiar voice — with all the indignation of almost always when talking with Martin becomes present he has to turn his face around, let his breath go in such a controlled way that if the moment was another he would clap his hands and boast about the feat. "This is how you react when you think I'm dead?" He puts his sunglasses on.

"What would you expect me to do, Rog?" The unusual low tone isn't expected and is strange to his ears. One of his eyes twitches behind his sunglasses in an unwelcome way. He could not focus his gaze and the wriggling is just _there_. Itching. "Like, drop to my knees and have like an out dramatic episode?" Miraculously, his voice does not tremble.

Words that do not come easily because all he wants to tell his partner is to never do that again. Nevertheless, this does not stop his mind to play the sentence like a broken record. _Don't do that again. Don't do that again. Don't do that again. DON'T._ Words that want to leave his mouth so bad.

"When you took that bullet in the club and I thought you were dead," a little dramatic pause of Rog that he just dwelled for glorious moments. He moved his head to inquire like he just does not give a shit — a reaction that always hid everything inside him — because Martin Riggs cannot be seen less than that. "I wept!" 

_Play the fool like always, Martin._

He points his index finger. "It was tears of joy!" He says cheerfully, raising his tone to sound more familiar and to regain some sense of himself. 

_Play the dumb like always, Martin._

Murtaugh just turns around slowly in disbelief. And of course, the outrageous expression that fits only in his partner's face is present too. "What?" Riggs says acting like the moron he is supposed to be. "What?" Voice drips in faux cluelessness.

"You don't—" he turns briefly squeaking. "You don't even go in there to try to save me?" 

Murtaugh's exasperation is palpable and if his words pierce his heart in a furious and painful manner he does not let it show — even if Murtaugh is already with his back turned to him. _Fuck_ , he knows how he was completely ready to throw himself in those flames for his partner. And he has to hold himself still with the strength of one thousand bulls to not spill that out loud. 

"How would I gonna save you if you're blown up?" And relive the possibility of this occurring just a minute ago was terrific overwhelming, even if just saying or something. His steps want to fault with the sudden wish of bent and puke the beer that he drunk early out of his system. 

The silence that followed in the car back to the police station by his part was not pointed. _Well_ , not for Bailey, though Murtaugh just continued asking how Riggs could be so insensitive with his own partner's death and how he would not like to die burned, thank you very much. "For God's sake, Riggs, I'm talking to you! Can you please pay attention? Jeez, man." 

Not saying a word in answer, Martin drowns in his ramble, thinking how good it is. 


End file.
